


Brevity

by lestradead



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3305132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lestradead/pseuds/lestradead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America, home of the brave and the bold. None of these fit Dave Strider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brevity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [THE BAE](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=THE+BAE).



The year was 1940.

 

Gunshots. Explosions. Screams.

 

The world... was fucked up.

 

His name was Dave. David Elizabeth Strider. His legal guardian thought it was a pretty hilarious idea to make his name sound like an absolute fucking joke, but he never found it funny. It was always the bane of his existence from kindergarten to high school, and even now it was still the object of everyone's teasing in the army. He'd have thought his fellow soldiers would be more mature than this, but free time in the barracks before being deployed meant jocular conversation.

 

“Whose fuckin' genius idea was it to name you Elizabeth, Dave?” someone had asked, two days before being dropped off in Japanese territory. Dave didn't quite catch his name.

 

The dude was shot a day after landing in Japan. Only then did Dave find out who he was. It was in a rather cramped space, as they were camping out in a house near a narrow staircase and trapped by overturned chairs and tables; there was barely any space to move. With shaking hands, Dave began his pat-down, removing his fellow soldier of his gun and helmet; the weights that kept him anchored to a broken world. The letter and dog tags came next, the sound of heavy tanks and bombs going off quiet against the heartbreaking clink of metal on metal.

 

His name was... Dirk. Dave wiped off the grime from the plate, and-

 

Strider? Dirk Strider.

 

His “brother” had always told him he had a long-lost sibling, another Strider, whom he abandoned in a foster home back in Alabama before moving to Texas. Dave always thought he was fucked up, but he was a single dad, had to make ends meet by working shifts at entertainment houses. That was nothing compared to the waging war he was in.

 

How unfortunate that it was just now that they crossed paths.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, clutching the dog tags in his hands, whose palms have gone dry with a thin crust of blood and mud, long since did he give up trying to wash off the dirt from under his fingernails. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

 

Gunshot through the window. He stumbled back and clutched the dog tags even tighter, holding them to his chest, just above his heart. It pounded against his fist as he slowly crawled up the wall to peer through the open window, trying to spot the sniper that had just shot his brother. Anger overcame fear, fear overcame anger. He had to get out of there.

 

He looked at Dirk. The bullet had punctured right through his forehead, eyes open wide to show shock, dull brown eyes screaming in pain. His lips have gotten pale, skin even paler. Rigor mortis had begun to settle in. Dave could tell from the stiffness of his limbs.

 

Another gunshot. This time it had hit a metal pipe- heavy duty as it only richocheted off and landed languidly next to Dave's foot. He jumped back again, staring at the bullet for only half a second before bolting out of the place, running down the staircase to reunite with his squad.

 

“Strider!” their squad leader called from behind a pile of sand sacks. Dave hurried over, carrying Dirk's gun and dog tags, knowing he looked like an absolute fool but couldn't care less because he could have _died_. Dirk wasn't part of the group, since he had a different captain and a different mission, but Dave still felt that he had to tell someone, _anyone_ , about him.

 

“Get back here, you slippery little shit,” the captain whispered angrily, pulling Dave in to crouch down right next to him. The sun beat down on his face, and the military-provided shades did jack shit to assuage the heavy pounding of his head against his will. He composed himself and hastily got to his feet, peering over the edge of the sand sacks and barbed wire to observe what was happening on the other side.

 

“How's the war treatin' ye, private?” the soldier next to him asked. He held a cigarette between his fingers and blew some smoke rings into the air.

 

“Treating me like it's the raging alcoholic husband and I'm the wife who didn't do anything wrong. All bullshit, man, I wish I was back home.”

 

“We all wish we were back home, kid. Too bad it ain't gonna happen any time soon.”

 

“I know. This place is fucked up.”

 

Explosion. Dave could have sworn it would have caused an earthquake.

 

“Move out,” the captain told his squad, giving Dave a curt pat on his chest. “All their men are dead. Let's get out of this fucking hellhole.”

 

And so they did.

 

* * *

 

 

0244.

 

“I know it ain't easy, kid. It's never easy,” the captain told Dave over a triad of burning candles. Smoke rose up into the air and dissipated into the night. The abandoned house they took refuge in for the evening was near-rotten, pitch black, and fucking _humid_. Dave was used to humid, having lived in Texas for the last eighteen years, but never with this much anxiety and fear that he could die at any minute.

 

Then again, he did have the same feelings back in Texas. Living with his brother was just a one-way trip to Fucked Up City. He admired his efforts in raising him, though, so he was forgiven.

 

“Y'all could've told me earlier, so I could've just continued college and not have enlisted in this shitty fucking place.”

  
“To hell with your words, kid. You're here, and there ain't no way you can turn back time. Just fight, survive, and go back home.”

  
“You said it wouldn't be easy.”

  
“I didn't say it would be.”

 

Dave sighed. “Fuck it.”

 

There was a shuffle of clothes and a creak of old wood as another soldier came in. Dave recognized him as the one who was smoking earlier in the battlefield. He gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

  
“It's gonna be a long night, junior,” he told Dave, “you should get some rest. I'll keep watch. You too, cap.”

 

“Can't sleep,” Dave said, remembering the way Dirk's face looked, the way the blood ran down his forehead to his cheek, regurgitated blood spilling out of his mouth and pouring down his chin. He tried to shake it off.

 

“Same here,” the captain followed up. “But if you want to stay and hang, then fine by us.”

 

The soldier sunk down to his knees and sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor.

 

“I could use another cigarette.”

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
